The Angel in the Lake
by Myrielle
Summary: Drawn by a siren song to the Lake, Tifa Lockhart discovers that some legends are all too real.
1. Return

_Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. This is certainly intended for entertainment only. _

_A/N: Alternate universe, Seph-Ti pairing. And I want to write again. I'm amazed. _

_Summary: Drawn by a siren song to the Lake, Tifa Lockhart discovers that some legends are all too real._

**_The Angel in the Lake_**

It is a cool evening. Everything she sees is gold. The gentle sunset, the fire touched treetops and blades of grass as they bend in the strong breeze. Her hair as it slides against her skin, strands of live flame that tickle her nose and whip against her eyes, causing her to brush them aside incessantly. She wishes for a moment that she had bound it and then she hears it again.

She has learnt not to ask if anyone else hears it, she has had enough of strange looks. But for the past two summers, her ears have heard a strange song on the breeze. Or rather, broken pieces of a haunting melody that stir her blood stronger than even the wine she secretly took from her father's cellar. They thrill her, more so than Cloud, her first love who rode off to a strange war and never came back. The notes make her shiver, make her feel like bursting out of her skin when they reach fever pitch, as she folds her arms and fights not to head into the forest, not to follow them.

Something calls to her, in the dark of the night, in cool new mornings, even in the thick warmth of the summer afternoons. A gentle hum that she falls asleep to, a violent crescendo that brings her reeling from her bed to grasp for air with breathless lungs. It is temptation, it is forbidden.

But it is something she can no longer ignore. She is nineteen now, and a skilled fighter in her own right. So she tells herself that she will be safe. All she needs to do is look. All she wants is to find out what it is that calls her so and why. Perhaps then, she will have some peace.

The earth feels firm beneath her feet, the smell of the morning's rain still clings to the wood and leaves, leaves her boots and thin leggings damp as she strides along the half hidden path. Few people use the woods, and none ever go to the lake. Every child is told the tale as soon as they come of age to leave the safety of their house. She has heard colourful versions of the same tale. There is a siren, a creature with silver hair and eyes like ice. It is the heart of a child she craves. An angel cast down from the skies, crippled with one black wing who takes souls of lost travellers he lures to the water's edge. A thousand years ago an evil king was sealed in the lake and he takes those foolish enough to come near as his vassals.

Today she will find out for herself what exactly the truth is. Tifa trembles slightly as she smells the water. She pauses for a moment, aware of the melodic thrum that causes her blood to surge, that threatens to rock her feet forward in direct contrast to what she wants for the moment. A slender hand presses against the bark of a tree, the slight pain causes her strange enchantment to recede.

Is that what she is, the girl wonders. Enchanted? Magic exists, that she knows. She wields some of it and wields it well. The fiery red, blue and green jewels that adorn her glove attest to that fact. The silky embroidered ribbon tied around her arm is a subtle giveaway of her knowledge of magic. Ribbons should keep their bearers immune to enchantments. So what is this then that draws her?

The question slowly fades away as she comes into view of the lake. The water is alive beneath the fading sun and wind, shimmering, swirling gently, and beckoning.

She needs to be careful. One slow step at a time, Tifa cautions herself, cinnamon eyes sweeping the area for anything strange and threatening. She half expects some monster to come surging out of the lake to devour her in its bright depths. Instead, a lone eagle cry overhead reminds her that the evening is drawing to a close and even the kings of the air have returned to rest. To her surprise, Tifa realises that the music is quieter now, softer, as gentle as the first time she heard it.

"What do you want?" she asks aloud, wondering if anyone is even listening.

And then she hears it and knows that at least one of the legends is wrong. It is not a woman that inhabits the lake.

The voice is rich, deep and gentle. For a fleeting moment Tifa thinks she knows it, remembers it from some memory that lingers just beyond the edge of remembrance.

_Come closer. _

It is a request and a command. And she is helpless to refuse. Muscles tensed, fists clenched even as adrenaline races through her, she complies with slow steps. Several feet from the water, she comes to a halt. Tifa calculates that the distance is sufficient for her to spring back in case of a surprise attack. If it is a water monster, then fire would be her weapon of choice.

_Don't be afraid. _

He's laughing at me, she realises. He sounds amused. "Where are you?" she demands, sharply now.

_Isn't that the same question I've been asking you for years now?_

"What?" Tifa sputters. "You're…" Just a voice in my head, she wants to say but she can't bring herself to say the words. For an instant she doubts her sanity.

_Look closer. Look in the lake. _

Near her feet, the water stills, seems to turn to glass. For a moment all the light in the world seems to be concentrated there and she gasps aloud, eyes squeezed as she turns to avoid being blinded. The sun itself burns through the darkness behinds her lids and she feels herself falling, hitting the earth and she rolls desperately, trying to remember which way the forest lies.

Or at least she tries to. A strange heaviness coats her limbs and panic floods her. Fear, like bile, rises up in her throat. She can't move, can't open her eyes, just knows from the intense heat radiating near her that something has happened. I've caused this, I've let out that monster in the lake. Visions of ruined villages and dead bodies fill her mind as she fights to move. I have to stop this.

_Yes, you should. Contrary to what they say, the beating hearts of children really aren't what I desire. _

And suddenly, she can move. Her eyes fly open and Tifa has every intention of impaling the monster with jagged spears of ice. Except that those intentions die a swift death as she stares, open-mouthed at the vision before her.

He waits quietly, watches her as she takes in her fill. "So it is true," she finally speaks after a long silence. Her eyes trace the single black wing that lies unfurled against his back, dark as midnight against the silver white of his hair that is even longer than her own. "You are an angel." And standing on water to prove it, she realises with more than a ripple of shock.

"No, that's not right either." It's been an eternity since he has last seen her. Tifa Lockhart, the one woman he ever felt anything for. She does not remember him though.

"Then who are you?"

In response to the emotions that he keeps carefully masked from his face, his one wing spreads further, black feathers gleaming. "My name is Sephiroth," he replies softly. "And we once knew each other."

Tifa's eyes narrow. "That's a lie. I've never—"

"You loved me."

Her jaw drops open again. "I've only ever loved Cloud!"

For a moment those green eyes turn cold and she senses a deep rage in him. "You belonged to me," he states quietly and she cannot look away from his gaze. "And you sealed me in this lake for a thousand years."

She blinks rapidly, steps back a few paces. He permits her to although he cannot let her go too far. His power extends only to the edge of the woods. Once there she will be safe from him and he knows she wants to flee and never come back now. "You're mad," she whispers. "I don't even know you. What do you want from me?"

He had been mad to love a woman who had clung to another man for the longest time. Even after her betrayal he had hungered for her presence, had believed somehow that she would realise how she needed him. The great General Sephiroth, humbled and made a fool of by a woman and by his naiveté.

"You, Tifa Lockhart, are going to set me free. As they say, an eye for an eye."

Too late she realises what he intends to do. The air explodes in a burst of heat as she throws up a defensive wall of fire. But it is no use. The last thing Tifa remembers is a shining blade cutting through the flames, shredding the fire like paper. Then the world goes black as she feels his hand on her throat.


	2. Anything of Nothing

_Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. This is certainly intended for entertainment only. _

_A/N: Thanks to all who read and reviewed! I was glad to hear from you.  
><em>

_Summary: Drawn by a siren song to the Lake, Tifa Lockhart discovers that some legends are all too real._

_**The Angel in the Lake**_

_The last thing Tifa remembers is a shining blade cutting through the flames, shredding the fire like paper. Then the world goes black as she feels his hand on her throat… _

An eye for an eye. A life for a life. One eternity for another.

The first day he had spent beneath the lake had almost driven him insane. She had killed him but left him alive to breathe water, to rage in soundless misery as she rode away with Cloud Strife. She had not even glanced back, had never seen his tears.

Sealed away by a force greater than himself, he had been left to dream, to imagine sometimes that he were dead, to walk the bottom of the great lake as the fishes sped past, darting gracefully, occasionally nibbling at the wing he kept tucked tightly against his back.

Occasionally he would rise to the surface and some traveller would scream in horror at the sight of a face gazing up at him through the water. One poor man had died literally of fear and that had been the start of but one of the stories that had sprung up about him.

And all this time, minute after minute, hour upon hour, he had never forgotten the treacherous female who had doomed him. He hated her so deeply sometimes he wondered if she could feel it through space and time that separated them. They were bound, she to him, irrevocably. He had seen to it, had been driven to weave a spell once she had promised herself to him. "I will always come back to you," she had whispered against his mouth, completing the magic. "No matter what, I will return." She could not have known he had cast a deeper magic than even she could have dreamt of, had taken a part of her soul in exchange for some of his.

Flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone. The memories of their nights together were a bitter brand that seared him endlessly.

How he hated her. But how he loved her still. He did for the spell could not be undone. And for that he despised himself.

His hand travelled over the delicate contours of her neck, a killing blow turned caress even as she had fainted the moment he touched her. Kneeling over her, Sephiroth lifted his head and savoured the touch of air on his skin, looked with eyes not obscured by water, breathed in sweet freedom.

If he killed her now… The hand on her neck clenched hard and immediately red blossomed on her skin. "And after hating you for so long, what will be left for me when you are gone?" he hissed through curled lips, suppressing a deep shudder.

Unearthly green eyes flashed with fury and Masamune sprang to life, borne through the air on a black hatred. The blade rose and fell, cut through the air without the faintest whisper. And Sephiroth screamed. The guttural roar sent the birds fleeing from the trees and crying through the air.

Tifa lay as still as death except for the faint rise and fall of her chest. She looked untouched, save for the thin line of red that soaked the sliced edges of her clothes. It ran from her chest to her belly, she would bear the scar for the remaining days of this life. But it was far from life threatening.

He could not kill her. Dully, he dropped his sword and lowered himself slowly to the ground. His face obscured by the silvery white of his hair, Sephiroth heard nothing but the sound of his harsh breathing, soaked in the fullness of his impotence. He had nursed his hatred for hundreds of years and now when she was near, he could not kill her, could not break the spell that kept him neither living nor dead.

'You deserve it. You deserve this for your weakness," he bit out, cursing himself. Even now he yearned to hold her, but feared he would crush her in his embrace. Love had become darkness, an obsession that mastered him.

The scent of her blood on the wind was overwhelming, a taunt, a temptation. His hand shook and Sephiroth turned. He lowered his face to hers, pressed his lips against her neck, smiled bitterly against her satin skin.

Fool that he was, this moment would sustain him another thousand years.

….. …. …

When Tifa regained consciousness, she kept perfectly still in spite of the wild hammering of her heart. Very slowly, she peeked under her lashes and saw nothing. The sound of water lapping at the edge of the shore was close by and it sent fear freezing through her veins. She wondered if he was still there. The last thing she remembered was a fallen angel wild with rage seizing her by the throat. It was a miracle she still lived.

Opening both eyes, Tifa stared up at the stars that twinkled faintly against a black velvet sky. Cautiously, she attempted to move her limbs and was astonished to discover all her body parts intact.

'But not unharmed though," she grimaced as a fiery pain burned down her chest to the lower planes of her flat belly. Muttering a soft spell, she placed a hand over the crusted wound and watched as green light shimmered over her flesh, knitting it magically together and easing the pain. When she was fully healed, she carefully held the ends of her blouse together and shakily rose to her feet.

Any sensible person would have been running for the safety of home but Tifa found herself rooted to the ground, her gaze swinging between the trees and the water. Gazing at the latter was like looking into a black mirror; one saw nothing and there was the strange sensation of falling.

_Get out. _

She half-screamed before clamping a hand over her mouth. For a moment she could have sworn he had spoken right in her ear. "You! Why did you—"

The lake began to boil furiously, frothing and foaming like a live being and whatever shreds of courage she was hanging onto deserted her. Tifa fled.


	3. Possession

_Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. This is certainly intended for entertainment only. _

_A/N: Thanks to all who read and reviewed! I was glad to hear from you. And thank you so much for being infinitely patient. I had to rewrite the end of the chapter because it was not quite time for lemons although the Muse strongly insisted otherwise.  
><em>

_Summary: Drawn by a siren song to the Lake, Tifa Lockhart discovers that some legends are all too real._

_**The Angel in the Lake**_

The windows are shut, the curtains drawn as though they would keep out the dark things that roam outside. Once the world was safe and warm, and she knew it inside out. And then she went to the lake and met its fallen angel. And now she knows nothing but the dreams that come each night and during the long hours of nothingness.

…_You loved me…_

She dreams of endless nights full of need where they burn each other up in slick embraces, where the nights are rent by their cries, where she is held in his arms. "I love you," she whispers shyly, as though this man does not already know her as thoroughly as one individual can know another. For it is not just her body that he holds, it is her heart as well. "I love you," she tells him again and feels the knitting of their souls as he repeats her words, those unworldly green eyes unguarded and gentled, just for her.

Reality comes back when she opens her eyes to find herself lying on sweat-soaked, crumpled sheets. For one moment she imagines it had all been real; how else to explain the mess of silk and cotton that is her bed? She has always been a quiet sleeper.

Daylight is no longer the same. Books no longer have any magic because her mind's eye is distorted by images of boiling lakes and dark secrets that lie beneath their surfaces. She goes for long walks, even grueling runs in the forests and through the fields and when she comes back shaking and exhausted, she is forced to admit that she cannot get away.

Curiosity gnaws at her, whittling away fear and common sense. She knows he has answers, but are they truth? Or is he, as she fears on some level, simply mad? Her clothes have been folded neatly and hidden away at the bottom of her closet; the sliced material a deadly reminder of how she could have died. "But you didn't," a thought remains, arguing stubbornly in favour of an idea she has been toying with for weeks.

He hates her and perhaps he loves her. She remembers very well his rage when she blurted out that Cloud had been the only man she had ever loved. Does he know who Cloud is? And for the first time since the latter's absence, she is glad Cloud is far away and safe. Tifa has no doubt that Cloud's life will not be spared if he encounters the angel in the lake. But for all his savagery, he let her live. A shiver courses down her spine as she thinks it is not for want of trying to take her life. But something stopped him and she thinks it might be love. Why else the possessiveness and the bitterness? You cannot hate someone you feel nothing for and if they loved each other once…

The remembrance of the dreams makes her blush and it is then she also remembers that he might very well share the same memories. She wonders if he really has a scar over the smooth, firm plane of his stomach, remembers her fingers ghosting over otherwise perfect skin. The dreams, for her, are not yet reality. She wonders what they are for him and how all this could possibly be real.

And so it is that as the weeks drag by and time wears down her fears and increases her curiosity, Tifa Lockhart makes a decision.

She will go back down to the lake. And she will wait for him to rise. And then they will speak of things that once were and what is to be.

The way is not the same though. Every step is laced with caution; she jumps when the wind scatters leaves along her path and more than once she thinks she should turn back. Tifa is aware she is trusting in a man who already has tried to kill her, trusting in his inability to do so. If this isn't madness… But then who is to say she isn't already, in some way, possessed? The thoughts of him, of them, will not leave.

When she finally makes it to the lake, her knees are shaking and it is with some relief and new trepidation that she sinks to the ground and leans against a tree for support. "I'm here," she whispers. "I must speak to you."

Her only response is the gentle rippling of a silent lake. If she did not know better, she would have thought he was already gone.

* * *

><p>For days on end, he ignores her. So every morning and evening, before and after she opens and closes the small tavern left to her by her father, she waits for him. In time she learns to bring books, pens letters to friends in far off places. Eventually, she begins reading aloud to him and telling him about the world he does not live in. She has no idea where to begin but she knows she must start somewhere.<p>

Still, Sephiroth, as she has come to think of him, chooses not to respond. Once she thought she would tempt him out and in the cloak of darkness, she began to tell him of her dreams. She would have thought she was talking to the air, except that she realized he was listening because everything, from the air to the leaves to the surface of the water, everything went perfectly still. So she quietly spun her story, of two lovers white in the moonlight, silvered under the sky with limbs so entwined that it was impossible to separate the two by sight. "I loved you then," she said softly and knew it for a mistake when the wind turned wild and frigid, and a chill that had nothing to do with the weather turned her heart cold.

She had never known such miserable agony, not even when Cloud had chosen to reject a quiet life with her in favour of war and adventure, or when her father had passed on from this world to the next. She had loved both men with all her heart and they had gone to places she could not follow.

His pain far surpassed that. He might have lived under the spell but he had also died more than once in that enchanted lifetime. "I'm sorry," she said brokenly but the wind above did not cease its howling.

She did not go back the next day, or the day after that. Eventually, longing overcame guilt and when she returned, she thought the sun seemed just that a bit brighter, the breeze softer and cocooned in the silence, she fell asleep by the lakeside for the first time.

That was weeks ago and today, Tifa wonders if he will ever do something, say anything. She is beginning to doubt and she knows this is exactly what he wants: he wants her to go away again.

Suddenly, she is angry. "You don't get to do this." The book drops to the grass, pages bent and folded beneath the weight of the heavy spine and cover. "You call to me for years and then you send me away when I come? You blame me for your entrapment but you won't tell me how to make it right."

She holds on to her anger so that she has the courage to carry out what she thinks she must. Boots are unlaced and flung off. Trembling hands furiously work to pull ribbons loose and before she can think twice, she yanks the garment off and stands there in her plain cotton shift. "Fine, if you won't come to me, then I will go to you."

Pulling the shift up to her thighs, she wades boldly into the water. "I know what you're thinking," she says darkly. "You want me to feel guilty always, but I'm not going to be anyone's prisoner that way."

Unnatural currents swirl around her legs and waist, and she knows what she is doing is getting some kind of response. Tifa is too elated to consider what the consequences are. "I knew you couldn't ignore me," she mutters before kicking out into the deep. Taking a deep breath, she dives under into his realm.

The water is crystal clear and beneath the blue, light is fractured, spiraling through to the pale gold sand beneath. Recklessly, she swims for the darker blue of the lake, convinced he is hiding in the shadows. When her lungs burn for air, she rises only to slip back down. She is determined to hunt him out. Strange fish dart by, their large eyes glassy and curious as they study her. There are flowers in soft muted hues and sea grass here and there but her eyes are looking for something else.

Tifa swims until she is exhausted. Reluctant to give up, she treads water before floating on her back. The sun above her wavers as hot tears run down her temples into the lake. "Why?

As if in response, she pulled down under and the lake stifles her scream. Air rushes from her, escaping in a stream of bubbles that spiral up to the light that she is being dragged further away from. Terror claws through her the way her fingers do at the surface and for one eternal moment, she believes she is going to die.

And then she can breathe. Tifa chokes, coughing out water and a hand roughly brushes wet hair away from her face before yanking it back so hard that her neck snaps back and her head is forced against the cradle of his shoulder. The sand and grass are crushed beneath their knees as he speaks in her ear that now she knows, just a fraction, of how he felt.

"I'm sorry," she says again. Her tears have not stopped.

"You left me more dead than alive." His whisper, barely leashed, is savage. "Why won't you let me be?"

It is a question she had hoped he would have an answer to. So Tifa does what she thinks is best. Trembling in the arms that could so easily crush her, she turns her head slightly and brushes her wet lips over his cold cheek. He goes rigid against her touch. "I can't." It is a confession. Her hands reach up as best they can and touch his arms, stroking over damp skin. "You have to forgive me."

Forgive her. Once upon a time he had told himself that he would forgive her, if only she came back to him. But that was lifetimes ago and she, now as she is, has no idea of what she has done. Memories locked deep inside spirit, flesh and bone have only begun surfacing because she has met him but it is not the same. Sephiroth breathes in deeply, struggles to hold on to his bitterness against the gentle touch of shaking fingers.

"I cannot trust you." The words spill from his lips, an ugly truth he will live with forever.

It is meant to be an accusation, a condemnation. It leaves the two of them clinging to each other amidst a sea of shipwrecked dreams. The satisfaction he feels is but a shadow compared to the flare of pain that he feels inside her and she realizes that no matter what, he will not change his mind about who she is, in spite of the lives that have passed them by.

"Won't you at least tell me why?"

"Will it make a difference?" After a thousand years, now he feels a bone-deep weariness.

"It will make some."

She is as stubborn as before and she will have her way, as always. And like before, he'll play the fool for her. Just this once. "Tomorrow then," he promises, untangling his fingers from her hair. Instead of getting up, she leans further back in and he realizes the trap he set for himself.

"Tomorrow," she agrees, echoing him. Then, she is set down gently and he slips away, leaving her alone again.


	4. Remembrance

_Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. This is certainly intended for entertainment only. _

_Summary: Drawn by a siren song to the Lake, Tifa Lockhart discovers that some legends are all too real._

_**The Angel in the Lake**_

She did not get to see him that morning. It had taken an age to fall asleep the night before and when she opened her eyes, chunks of sunlight were coming in from the gaps between the curtains. The sounds of a bustling town shook the last vestiges of sleep from her as she pushed herself fully over the brink into wakefulness. There was nothing left to do but open the tavern and pretend that everything was perfectly normal. In a strange way, that is normal. She has been doing that for long weeks now and it is imperative nobody finds out about him. She will never allow anyone to harm him and since he can go nowhere, she keeps him her secret.

Evening drags her way into town finally and it is with great relief, lined with a tinge of dread, that she closes the doors to Seventh Heaven and waits for the town crowds to thin. Tifa takes no torch with her. In the dark, she would know her way to him. There is a sliver of moon that casts little more than a pale dim glow on the leaves of the trees and which does not reach the grass. It takes her a few seconds to make him out amidst the shadows, perfectly still, his wing folded gently against his back, its raven black blending into the night.

"Sit there," he speaks when she is a few feet away.

He does not want her near, Tifa realises. It does nothing to ease her dread and again she wonders what terrible thing she must have done in that past life and she cannot, cannot accept that there is a chance that she could have willfully harmed him. Yet the evidence is there in his pale, cold face, in the hard lines of his body that is partially turned from her. It should have been impossible to hear him that clearly but she does.

So obediently, she folds her legs beneath her, feels grass prick her skin and she waits.

"What else have you dreamt of?" Sephiroth asks abruptly, unpleasantly aware of how his chest tightens in anticipation of her answer.

"Just what I told you of that night," comes the reply. It displeases him. All her soul remembered was their love. How could that be? Perhaps her deceit ran deeper than he imagined and turned upon even the one who possessed it. Did people change? He did not believe so. She was exactly as he remembered. Beautiful, painfully so because he still loved her, artless and yet sharp enough to sense how to get under his skin, to make him want her, innocent in her lack of experience yet fiery enough to burn and shine with life.

"What happened?"

Her voice is tentative, taut with wariness. But since this is what she wants, he will give it to her in full measure. So he tells her about them, about distant mountains that still exist. Of a small tiny village nestled at the foot of those monuments of stone and snow, of a young guide who had lost her way and a one winged angel who flew in on blizzard winds to save her. Coincidence, he named it. From his bitter tone, he might as well have pronounced himself cursed to have met her, Tifa thinks sadly.

They were inseparable after that, first as friends. They became lovers only after her childhood love, Cloud, had left to find a woman he had never forgotten. And then one day, Cloud had come back and everything changed. She had drifted away, there were secrets between them and black, angry words exchanged.

Then one day, she asked him to meet her here, at this very same spot. He had been so full of hope. And then from within her cloak she drew out a white jewel of blinding brilliance. Its light scored his eyes, pain clouded his senses and as the waters covered his head, he sensed an invisible seal being drawn up about him. Fear great as the lake had engulfed him but the pain of betrayal was an endless abyss. Then oblivion had taken him. He had awakened to the sight of her staring down at him from above. Too weak to do more than call out, he watched as Cloud wrapped an arm around her and together, they walked away. It was only a year later, when it finally dawned on him that this desertion was the truth, that he noticed his wing was no longer white.

By the time he is done, Tifa is completely stricken. It can't be true, she thinks to herself. Don't people remain the same, their souls at least? Or is each life a variant version of the same fate? The very fibres of her being are revolted by the thought of such cruelty being wrought upon another person, let alone a man she loved. In truth, now, as she is, she is already beginning to love him a little. And Cloud is receding into the distance of memory. There must be more, she is convinced of it. He spoke of secrets kept from him.

He senses rather than sees the movement. "Don't touch me," he warns, his voice just the slightest bit ragged, betraying the quiet storm within.

Because some part of her which is coming back knows him so well, Tifa understands there is nothing that can be done. For the moment. Holding her spine straight, because she refuses to cower or be broken, she looks at him, long enough for him to understand she does not want to go but this is fully his doing.

She leaves him but his image, so tall and unbending yet so worn away by all that has happened, lights the path before her feet. In the sanctuary of her home, Tifa goes to her father's room. It is exactly the way he used to keep it. And from a locked box in the drawer of his table, a box that opens only at her voice, she withdraws a red and black candle, shaped like a claw. Striking a match, she touches the flame to the wick and waits as the candle burns itself out into nothingness. When the last speck of wax vanishes, she tells herself to be patient.

Vincent will arrive soon.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Firstly, thanks for reviews! I must especially thank M.M.M though because you kick-started the Muse when you reviewed a couple of my other stories. ^_^**_

_**It's a strange story and I meant for it to have that abstract, fairytale-esque quality (Thanks Telya for saying you liked this kind of setting!). I'm afraid that it might end soon though, but I promise some emotionally charged moments before that. I hope you liked this chapter, short as it is. More will be explained soon.**_

_**Official song for this story: "Run", the L. Lewis version. The conclusion of the story was shaped by it.  
><strong>_


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